Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye
of the room. She wished she might remain in this room for days.
‘It may prove difficult to make your selection if you do not step inside,’ he called out from inside the room, with a trace of laughter.
Warmth spread across her chest, up her neck and across her cheeks. Avoiding his gaze, she crossed the threshold and was met by the scent of old books and leather.
‘This is lovely.’ Her voice died away in the hushed stillness of the room.
‘Thank you. You may explore it to your heart’s content.’
‘I’d caution against making such an offer. You may find me curled on the floor, surrounded by books in the early-morning hours.’
‘One can only dream, Miss Vandenberg...one can only dream.’
Smiling at his teasing comment, she navigated around a grouping of well-used chairs and highly polished tables. As she walked along, scanning the shelves, she felt the heat of his presence behind her.
‘Are you a great reader?’ she asked. ‘Or do you rarely frequent this room?’
‘In my youth I would spend many agreeable hours here. That large chair by the fire was a particular favourite spot of mine. It is from there that I read about gods and adventures and pirates and kings. Unfortunately now my duties in Westminster keep me too busy to read for pleasure.’
That made her pause and turn to him. ‘There is always time for a good book. Even if that time is before you close your eyes at night. A well-told story feeds the soul.’
‘Spoken like the daughter of an author.’
He didn’t have a true measure of her if that was what he thought.
‘Spoken by a woman who knows the value of literature,’ she replied, poking him in the chest. ‘You should consider my words.’
‘I consider all your words—much to my vexation.’
What man said that to a woman?
‘You think I’m vexing?’
He crossed his arms and raised his chin. ‘I think you provoke me to see the world differently.’
‘Forgive me. I do not wish to inconvenience you,’ she snapped, spinning around to prevent herself from saying more.
He took her arm and gently turned her to face him. ‘Do you seek to purposely misread me? If so, you should be commended. You do a fine job.’ He was wise enough to redirect their conversation. ‘Now, tell me if you have any notion of which subject matter might interest you.’
The heat from his hand on her forearm warmed her entire body. She glanced about, needing to recall the purpose of their excursion. Intrigued by his ancestors, she was curious about the battle he had mentioned.
‘Would you have any books on your country’s history?’
‘Are you certain I cannot interest you in a gothic novel?’ A teasing glint sparkled in his green eyes. ‘Perhaps one with a dungeon?’
She held back a smile and faked eagerness. ‘Do you have any?’
‘I honestly couldn’t say,’ he said dryly.
‘Well, it matters not. I am interested in a historical read.’
He let go of her arm. ‘Follow me. I will show you where to look.’ He led her behind the last row of shelves. ‘Is there anything about our history you have a particular interest in?’
It wasn’t necessary for him to know that she wanted to learn more about his family. She was certain that would make him strut about for the remainder of their time together. He had mentioned a King Henry. She could start there.
‘Since we have no monarchy in America, I’d like to read about yours.’
He slid the brass and oak library ladder towards her. ‘You should look on the upper shelves.’
* * *
Julian picked up a book on Greek mythology and began skimming the contents while he waited for Miss Vandenberg to make her selection. He had read this book before, many years ago. From what he could recall he had enjoyed all the fantastical tales. Maybe he would read a few pages this evening, before he turned in for the night.
He should allow her to peruse his collection without hovering around her like some lovestruck youth. It would be the polite thing to do. But Julian had no desire to be polite.
‘What do you know of King Henry the Eighth?’
She really did have a lovely voice. When he lifted his head, his reply caught in his throat as he found himself at eye level with the delicate curves of her breasts.
Her creamy skin was flushed with a warm glow as his gaze fixed on a small birthmark on the upper swell of her left breast. How he wished he could spend hours exploring that one small spot. How many birthmarks did she have? Did she have them in other enticing places?
The catch of Miss Vandenberg’s breath broke his concentration. He quickly raised his gaze to meet her amused expression.
‘Well?’ she prompted.
That birthmark had caused the blood to rush from his head to his groin, and Julian had no recollection of their conversation. She rolled her eyes and lowered herself to the next step down. Her breasts were now out of his direct line of vision. He wasn’t certain if he was relieved or disappointed.
‘I asked what you know of King Henry the Eighth. There are a number of volumes of books on him here.’
Books. They had been discussing books. Would she think it odd if he banged his head against one of the shelves? Probably. He snapped the book on mythology closed.
‘He ruled England during the sixteenth century and altered the course of our religious practices. You may find it interesting that he had six wives.’
Her shocked expression made him laugh. ‘Six? How could one man have six wives?’
‘One died by natural means, he beheaded two, divorced two, and the last outlived him.’
‘He beheaded his wives?’
‘Two of them, yes.’ He backed away from the ladder to give her room to step down. Curious as to the book she had chosen, he held the tome that was still in her hand and read the title. ‘Excellent choice,’ he informed her.
‘Why would any man behead his wife?’
‘It is said he found them...unfaithful.’ This really was not a discussion one should have with a young, unmarried lady.
She stepped closer to him. ‘So he killed them? I have heard of many instances of wives being unfaithful here. Are they still beheaded for it?’
‘If that were the case there would be quite a few ladies missing.’
‘I really cannot begin to comprehend you English.’
‘And what puzzles you so?’
‘Your ideas on marriage and what constitutes a good one.’
‘And what constitutes a good marriage to an American?’
‘Love, fidelity, friendship...respect.’ She tilted her head to the side and a loose blonde curl caressed her long neck. ‘Have you ever been in love?’
A duke did not fall in love. Duty came before personal interest. Everyone knew that. He shook his head.
She nodded, as if she understood. Since she was an American, she would never have to concern herself with duty. This woman would be able to marry for love.
As an unmarried gentleman, he knew he should tread lightly in conversations of marriage. Yet she had been the one to broach the subject first. It would be poor form to end a discussion she was clearly interested in.
‘Have you ever been in love?’